


Name of the Fallen Human

by helptheturtles



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helptheturtles/pseuds/helptheturtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk falls down in order to start a new life and finally be called by name. But for some reason, everyone seems to think they're someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name of the Fallen Human

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is based off of speckleflecks's wonderful comic. If you haven't read it yet, go read it here (don't worry it's fairly short): http://speckleflecks.tumblr.com/post/137338331151/a-comic-about-a-name

Child. Kiddo. Darling. Countless endearments, but never a real name. Never Frisk.

At school it was “hey, you!” Frisk didn’t really mind. They didn’t expect the other kids to know their name, since they never got close enough to anyone. Their teachers never seemed to remember it, either, always calling them “Fran” or “Freya” or something of the like. It didn’t help that Frisk was an average student, never standing out, only seen as another test to grade.

Life at home was no different. Frisk’s parents focused more on the late night talk show than their child, often forgetting to send them to bed, occasionally forgetting to make them dinner. “Night, dear” their mom would mutter without bothering to glance from the screen. Once, Frisk’s father almost called them the wrong name. The word caught in his throat and he swallowed it down, correcting himself before he thought Frisk would notice. They did notice, though, and they never forgot. They knew when they weren’t wanted.

When Frisk first heard about Mt. Ebbot, they were captivated with the tale of the missing children. Where most kids saw a nightmare, Frisk saw an escape. They weren’t wanted here, but maybe they could find compassion where the other children had gone. It would be a fresh start, a reset, and Frisk would finally be called by name, finally feel loved.

With only a stick as their weapon, they hiked. And with only a bandage for protection, they fell.

 

Frisk blinked awake, back sore and head pounding. They begrudgingly stood up and examined their surroundings, taking note of the looming rock walls above their head and the crushed golden flowers below their feet. Not to mention the heavy feeling in their chest and overwhelming sensation of being watched. Eyeing the foliage, Frisk saw no one. They picked up their stick and trudged ahead, shivering even though the air was warm.

As excited as Frisk had been to start a new life, their first encounter with a monster was less than ideal. They stood sucking their finger where the white pellet hit as they stared in shock at the sneering flower, once again feeling unloved and helpless and betrayed. But as the bullets closed in, she arrived. She saved them and smiled at Frisk in a way they’d never seen a smile at home, a genuine, heart-warming smile that made them feel welcome in this foreign place.

Toriel knelt down and took Frisk’s hands in her own. “What is your name, child?” she asked.

This was it. Frisk’s new beginning, their reset. They’d never been good with words, but they broke into a grin as they stuttered out, “M-my name i-is…

“…Chara.”

Frisk’s smile fell. No, that wasn’t right. Why had they said that? The word had tumbled for their mouth but hadn’t been their own. A chill crept up their back as they once again felt that odd sensation of another presence, a gripping feeling in their chest. Frisk glanced back at Toriel to find a funny expression on her face.

“Chara? Oh.” Her brow was furrowed. “I…used to know another by that name. A child, like you. But that was…that was a long time ago,” she trailed off and looked past Frisk, who followed her gaze to the yellow flowers behind them. For some reason, Frisk felt cold.

They decided to try again. Shaking their head, Frisk stammered, “No, n-not that. I-I’m…” The tight feeling in their chest squeezed harder. “…I’m Chara,” they gasped, feeling short of breath.

Toriel broke from her trance and stared at Frisk, clearly confused. “That’s what I said, was it not?” she chuckled nervously. She still held their hands, but Frisk could feel her paws starting to dampen with sweat.

They considered trying to correct themselves again, but had a strong suspicion it would end in the same result. Besides, Toriel would surely think they were crazy, which wasn’t the first impression Frisk wanted to give the kindly monster, especially since she was the first creature to make them feel loved for such a long time. After a brief pause, Frisk nodded and gave a slight smile.

Toriel laughed again, more genuinely this time, and smiled back. “You’re just teasing me, aren’t you?” she prodded. Frisk nodded again. “Well, little trickster,” she said as she stood, "let me show you around.” To Frisk’s delight, she continued to hold one of their hands as the two ventured further into the ruins.

The next few hours were magical for Frisk; they couldn’t remember the last time they had so much fun. They walked around with wide eyes, taking in the sights of this new world. Toriel’s paw was warm, her grip just as comforting as her smile. Even though most children Frisk’s age may have been annoyed by Toriel’s overbearing personality, Frisk loved her protection. Back at home, their parents had never shown concern for their well-being. When they looked up at Toriel, they saw the mother they always wanted. They felt safe. They felt loved.

However, they also felt curious. So when Toriel gave them a phone and ran off to the store, they just had to go exploring. Solving puzzles, they delved deeper into the heart of the ruins, running into other monsters along the way. The first time Frisk encountered a monster by themselves, they were terrified; they’d felt safer with Toriel nearby. But even though Frisk still had the stick by their side (and felt that odd, cold presence that somehow urged them to use it), they were determined to help and befriend every monster they came across, be it a frog, a carrot, or a ghost with a really cool hat.

As they approached a quaint little house, the only one Frisk had seen so far in the ruins, they were reunited with a very surprised Toriel. She stared at them in shock before kneeling down to examine their body for cuts and bruises.

“Oh Chara, are you hurt? Let me heal you,” she gushed. Frisk cringed at the name, but didn’t try to correct her as the warmth of magic rushed through them. Despite this, the cold, unsettling feeling in their chest remained. They noticed, though, that when they looked at Toriel it was less constricting; if Frisk didn’t know any better, they’d say the unknown presence almost felt calmed at the sight of her. Frisk smiled at the thought. They could certainly relate.

After Toriel was sure there wasn’t a scratch left on their body, she led Frisk into her home. The building was cozy, smelling of baked goods and…was that snails? Frisk grinned and walked on until Toriel stopped in front of a plain white door.

“This…” she said, looking down at them with twinkling eyes, “…is your room.”

Frisk gaped at the motherly monster. This amount of affection was nearly incomprehensible to them. So much had changed in just a few hours, they thought as they sniffed and wiped away brimming tears (surely from the dirt kicked up in the ruins). “Th-th-thank y-you” they sputtered out, meeting eyes with Toriel.

Well, sort of meeting eyes. Toriel was looking lovingly at them, but Frisk had the strange sense it wasn’t them she was seeing. There was something else written on her face, too, in the slight crinkling at the bridge of her nose and the way her smile was genuine but hard. Sadness. Remembrance.

“Anything for you, Chara dear.”

Frisk swallowed hard. A chill traveled up their back as their hand turned cold in Toriel’s paw.

“Oh…do you smell that?” Toriel asked, glancing sheepishly at the child before hurrying away. Frisk was left staring at the door to their new room, unsure whether they should enter. They relented after stifling a yawn, the events and emotions of the day catching up to them.

Inside, the room felt like a sacred place. Frisk gingerly stepped toward the bed, not even bothering to take off their shoes before collapsing onto the plush mattress. Within seconds, they were sleeping soundly, dreaming of silly ghosts, fields of golden flowers, and a friend long forgotten.

 

The pie was a surprise.

Frisk stared down at the treat (only slightly charred) in the middle of the room, mouth watering as the sweet cinnamon scent filled their nose. The gurgling in their stomach suddenly reminded them that they hadn’t eaten since the previous morning. The pie was devoured within seconds.

Week one of their new life was everything Frisk could ask for. Toriel cared for them in a way so foreign that it was borderline uncomfortable, but they enjoyed every second by her side. In the afternoons, they’d walk around the ruins, chatting with all the monsters who’d calmed down after their first interaction. Frisk wasn’t used to having so many friends.

As the day’s passed, though, they found themselves growing weary of their new home. As kind as Toriel was, she continued to call them “Chara” and every time Frisk had to act like nothing was wrong. They still couldn’t say their own name, even while standing alone in front of the mirror in the hall. “I a-am...” they had stuttered, chest constricting as they stared at their reflection. “I a-am…Ch…Cha…” Their voice had broken, as well as their resolve. Toriel had torn into the hall when she heard the sobbing, hands still caked with flour. Frisk claimed they’d just stubbed their toe, which Toriel demanded to see. She inspected it quizzically, but said nothing.

Writing their name didn’t work, either. Gripping a crayon until their knuckles turned white, Frisk had watched as their words spelt out “CHARA” in red, capital letters. By the time they finished, Frisk’s hand felt numb, as if submerged in a bowl of ice water.

What bothered them most, though, had nothing to do with the foreign name itself: it was the way Toriel looked at them as if she was seeing someone else. It was the time Frisk saw tears in her eyes after she pulled their striped shirt out of the wash. It was the flash of fear in her expression when they brought her a bouquet of the captivating golden flowers.

Frisk might have been no good with verbal communication, but they excelled in understanding others. They could tell that Toriel, as much as she loved them, was still pained while looking at them. Frisk knew their presence was reopening old wounds. Thus, after many nights of sleeping in the bed that still felt like a strangers, they decided it was time to leave.

Of course, Toriel wasn’t too fond of this decision. Frisk gripped the stick in their hand as they looked at her with watery eyes, begging, pleading to just let them through. Each time the fire magic grazed their skin, they saw Toriel grimace and heard her hiss between clenched teeth, as if it was her own soul she was fighting. Frisk stood their ground. They never fought back, even though the stick felt warm and welcoming in their freezing hand. Eventually, their hurried dodges slowed down to mere sidesteps as the fireballs rushed past, missing them by far too much to be blamed on exhaustion. Toriel lowered her arms as the flames puttered out and Frisk pocketed the stick, regaining feeling in their fingers. The cave was silent.

The two looked at each other for a long while before Toriel spoke. “If you truly wish to leave the ruins, my child,” she sighed, “I will not stop you.”

Frisk paused, then nodded their head, eyes solemn. They cared for Toriel so very, very much, but they had to move forward.

A sad smile passed over Toriel’s face. “Very well, then,” she whispered as she knelt down, embracing them in a warm, furry hug. As they blinked back tears, Frisk could feel her gripping the fabric of their striped shirt and could tell she didn’t want to let go. Not again. Something inside them stirred, feeling bittersweet.

Eventually, she pulled away, leaving Frisk with an emptiness in their chest. She gave them one last warm smile before beginning to walk back through the cavern, back to the place Frisk had called home.

“Goodbye, Chara,” she said.

Frisk’s teeth clenched. With newfound determination, they faced the door in front of them. They took a deep breath and shoved their weight against the heavy stone, gradually grinding it open and staring into the darkness beyond. They looked behind them, then stepped through.

 

Frisk was filled with excitement as they walked into the unknown. Finally they’d be called by their own name and recognized as their own person. Unfortunately, their new encounters didn’t go as smoothly as they were hoping for.

After being scared out of their wits, Frisk found themselves face-to-face (as well as hand-in-hand) with a stout, living skeleton. They blinked and processed this new monster as the whoopee cushion sputtered out between them. After the talking carrot, though, Frisk wasn’t sure they could be surprised by anything.

“Heheh...the old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. It’s ALWAYS funny,” the skeleton chucked, examining them with a wide grin. Frisk giggled and the ridiculousness of the situation. The monster seemed to like that, his eyes growing a little brighter and his smile more genuine.

“Seems you’re a fan of a good prank. We’ll get along just fine,” the skeleton said with a wink, dropping his hand and pocketing the rubber cushion. “I’m Sans, by the way. Sans the skeleton.”

Frisk grinned up at their new friend. Despite Toriel’s warnings this guy seemed okay, even though the odd presence within Frisk seemed to disagree, stirring nervously. They tried to ignore it.

“So tell me, kiddo,” Sans droned. “You got a name?”

Frisk’s smile faltered. This was it, the moment of truth. They had to get this right. As they opened their mouth to answer, they felt that all-too familiar chill creep into their chest.

“I-I’m…” Frisk stuttered, then paused to collect themselves.

“Not great with words, huh?” Sans said, hands in his pockets. “That’s okay, kiddo. Take your time.” Frisk shot him a gracious smile, then took a deep breath. They could do this, they just had to focus…

“I’m Chara.”

The words spilled out of Frisks mouth before they could stop them. They trembled, once again feeling short of breath.

Sans stared at them quizzically. “Chara? That name rings a bell.”

Frisk tried to shake their head, tried to shout “no, that’s not it!” But they couldn’t. They struggled in silence as they tried to remember how to breathe.

Sans shrugged. “Eh, it’ll come to me. Hey, have you met my brother?”

 

The rest of Frisk’s encounters with monsters proceeded in a similar manner. Chara, Chara, Chara. As much as they tried, it was never their own name. Never Frisk.

Each time Frisk was hopeful that someone would see them for who they were. But each time the name “Chara” escaped their lips, each time that menacing, mocking presence hung over them, they felt their determination waver. Papyrus, as endearing and thoughtful as he was, never noticed Frisk’s discomfort at the name. Undyne, after befriending them through a pyrotechnic kitchen disaster, addressed them as “Chara” loud and proud with a slap on the back, causing Frisk to wince for multiple reasons. Alphys expressed shock after hearing the name, but nervously shied away from the subject. Mettaton never even asked for a name, instead calling Frisk “daaaarling” in a metallic drawl and leaping straight into his extravagant quiz show of death. The excitable kid with no arms, the stoic bartender, the stressed burger-flipping feline; none of them knew who Frisk truly was. Only Sans seemed to notice that something was wrong, settling on calling them “kiddo” or “pal” instead of “Chara”. Frisk knew he meant well, but every time he used a nickname it reminded them of the loneliness they tried so hard to escape from.

Finally, after a final confrontation with Sans in the hall of judgement, they found themselves standing in front of the throne room. Frisk hesitated. They fell in order to find a new life where they’d be recognized as their own person, but now they just wanted to get back to the surface. Even though Frisk felt loved by their new friends, an emptiness remained. This wasn’t the reset they were hoping for.

Maybe, once they faced Asgore…they’d try again.

Of course, it was never that easy. Fighting the king of monsters was worse than anything else Frisk had experienced in the underground, but not because of Asgore’s strength (although Frisk was feeling battered and beaten by the end). The worst part was the way Asgore looked at them throughout the entire battle: his expression was filled with loneliness, regret, and terrible, terrible sorrow. That now-familiar presence around Frisk…inside of Frisk...was urging them fight without mercy. Halfway through the fight, Frisk noticed they could see their breath.

Eventually, Frisk found themselves staring across the chamber at a beaten, kneeling Asgore. He asked them to be part of his family and, despite the desire to break free to the surface, Frisk found themselves considering his offer. All they’d ever wanted was for someone to notice them, to care for them, and they felt loved here in the underground despite the identity crisis. Maybe they should stay. Why would the surface be any different than before? Decision made, Frisk reached for Asgore’s hand.

The next second, they were reaching for a pile of dust.

Frisk covered their mouth, trying not to scream, as Flowey emerged from the shadows. His face contorted into a sadistic smile that was nothing like the affectionate smile of Toriel or mournful one of Asgore. The six human souls around him pulsed as if they were crying out and Frisk could only watch as he laughed maniacally and absorbed them one by one.

The fight with Asgore was nothing compared to what followed. What followed was something out of every child’s nightmares. Something so horrible, so harrowing that Frisk found themselves frozen in fear until sweeping, thorn-covered vines lurched their way towards them.

 

The battle seemed to last forever. Maybe it did. Frisk lost track of time, which seemed meaningless in this space between worlds. Finally, though, after being beaten, bruised, and burned, they stared down at a wilted Flowey. The stick was in their hand.

“I haven’t learned anything.” Flowey sneered. “If you don’t kill me, I’ll come back.”

Frisk gripped the stick tighter.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll kill everyone you love!”

Frisk’s knuckles were white. They stared at the stick. They wanted to use it. Now, more than ever, they wanted to attack. This monster had taken everything from them. Any chance at a new start laid behind them in Asgore’s dust.

Frisk raised the stick, then paused. They looked over the battered flower.

The icy feeling in their chest was gone. Instead, there was something warm in its place.

They lowered the stick. The haunting look on Flowey’s face melted, replaced with one of pure confusion.

“What are you doing, Chara?” he asked, voice softening. Frisk bristled at the name, but the warmth inside them stirred. It was sad. It was yearning.

It was sorry.

Flowey was gone. Frisk barely had time to register this before passing out and slipping into nothingness.

 

They woke up next to the barrier room, feeling strangely refreshed. Peeking through the doorway, they were delighted to see Asgore, alive and well. Apparently, time had rewound itself. Frisk had to admit this wasn’t the strangest event to occur during this adventure. After collecting their thoughts, they made their way back through the throne room of golden flowers and the hall of golden light, proceeding to take the elevators towards Hotland. As they stepped toward the MTT Resort, their phone rang. It was Undyne. She wanted them to deliver something.

Frisk brought the letter to Alphy’s doorstep. They roleplayed with her in the garbage dump. They wandered through the true laboratory. They read the logs hung on the walls. They faced the amalgamations. They watched the old home videos with the anonymous voices that sounded much too familiar. They returned to the throne room. They confronted Asgore with newfound determination. They cried out in joy at the reappearance of old friends.

They stood in silence as Flowey threatened to kill every last one of them.

Frisk stared up at the monsters writhing in Flowey’s grip. They were all Frisk had. Even though they to kill them, never learned their real name, and occasionally looked at them as though they were someone else, these monsters cared deeply about Frisk, more than anyone ever had. Despite everything, Frisk was still Frisk, no matter which name they were called. And Frisk wasn’t the type to stand idly by as everything they worked so hard for crumbled into dust.

They faced Flowey, encouraged by their friends’ cheers, prepared to fight a hundred more battles if it meant keeping them safe. Flowey cackled and the room flashed in searing, white light. Frisk covered their eyes, stick gripped in one hand as they tried to stay alert, bracing themselves for the first attack.

Then, right as they thought the room couldn’t possible grow brighter, the light vanished. Frisk was back in the void, but this time Flowey was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a young, white-furred monster stood with his back facing Frisk. They racked their brain, but didn’t recognize him.

The two of them stood motionless as the seconds ticked by. Eventually, Frisk saw the monster stretch his paws, curling and uncurling his fingers into fists. He started chuckling in a boyish tone; not menacingly, like the chilling laugh of the deceptive flower, but almost as if he was surprised. Something caused Frisk’s breath to catch and their palms, which were suddenly quite warm, to start sweating.

For some reason, he seemed familiar.

With his back still turned to Frisk, the new monster spoke. “Finally,” he said slowly, rolling the word in his mouth as if savoring his voice. “I was so tired of being a flower.”

Frisk’s mouth hung agape at this new development as he finally turned around. They took a moment to study his face: long ears, a snout nose. Sad, but tender eyes. Just like his parents, Frisk thought as they finally put the pieces together.

“Howdy!” the lost son said, plastering a smile on his face. “Chara, are you there?”

Frisk felt their heart beat faster. Their palms were slick now.

“It’s me, your best friend.”

Their chest was burning. Whatever force was inside of Frisk tried to close their eyes and turn them away. But Frisk refused.

There was another quick flash and suddenly the monster was hovering before them. He appeared many years older and was wearing clothing that bore the symbol on his mother’s robes.

“ASRIEL DREEMURE”. Frisk couldn’t tell if the words were said by Asriel or shouted in their own head. Perhaps both. Their gaze shifted down to the stick in their hand. Filled with determination, they tossed it aside. The thing inside them, normally so eager to harm, did not protest.

Frisk took a deep breath and faced their final foe.

Despite the ludicrous attacks, Frisk was never afraid. Perhaps it was because nothing could scare them after the nightmarish fight with Flowey, but the warmth in their chest claimed otherwise. Without a weapon, they dodged, ducked, and swerved, engaging in a dance rivaling that of Mettaton’s show. Frisk barely blinked when Asriel changed form, staying focused on skimming around the stars falling from the sky and jumping out of harm’s way from the vibrant lasers blasting past. They never stopped moving, not until Asriel froze them in place. For a fleeting second, Frisk felt panic bubble inside them, but something kept them calm and their soul glowing strong. They looked up at Asriel, the amalgamation of countless souls, and knew what they needed to do.

They saved. They saved Alphys. They saved Undyne. They saved Papyrus and Sans. They saved Toriel and Asgore.

They saved every soul until there was only one left.

Asriel stared down at them. He looked confused…scared, even. His mouth was set in a grim line as he looked through Frisk just as all the other monsters had.

“Chara…do you know why I’m doing this…?” he asked.

Frisk started to sweat, but they knew it wasn’t due to the dodging. Asriel tossed a few fireballs their way, but they missed by so much that Frisk didn’t bother to move. They were reminded of their fight with Toriel, seemingly so long ago.

“I’m doing this…because you’re special, Chara. Because you’re the only one that understands me.”

Frisk’s chest was so hot that they momentarily thought they’d been hit by a fireball. Their skin was practically burning. The fire magic continued to dance around them.

“No…that’s not JUST it. I…I…I’m doing this because I care about you, Chara! I care about you more than anybody else!”

Tears sprung to Frisk’s eyes without their volition. Whatever was inside them was a whirlwind of emotion: fury, pity, remorse, love. But it wasn’t fighting Frisk anymore; it seemed to be fighting itself instead. It was so uncomfortably warm that they almost missed the chilling cold from before. Frisk thought they smelled their hair burning.

“So please…STOP doing this…AND JUST LET ME WIN!” Asriel yelled.

With a scream of frustration, The Angel of Death raised his hands and produced an enormously wide beam, impossible for Frisk to dodge. They didn’t try. Instead, they stood still as their determination remained steady, keeping them standing despite the searing heat of the laser prickling every inch of their already-burning skin.

Eventually, Asriel stilled and Frisk’s chest began to cool. He looked crestfallen. Despite their powerful form, Frisk could tell he was still a child.

Asriel whispered this time, so quiet they had to strain their ears to hear him. “I’m so alone, Chara,” he said. “I’m so afraid…”

Frisk’s face was now wet with tears. This time, they weren’t sure whose they were. They felt themselves reaching out to the forgotten prince.

“Chara I…I…” Now Asriel was crying, too, sniffling in a way they found familiar. Comforting.

Frisk blinked hard, wiping away tears with their sleeve. When they pulled their hands away, Asriel was standing in front of them at eye level, back to wearing his green and yellow striped shirt. A kid again. His eyes were cast downward and he was wringing his paws.

“I’m so sorry. I always was a crybaby, wasn’t I, Chara?” he choked out in a hoarse voice.

Frisk simply smiled at him. They felt calm. Calm and somehow at peace. They waited patiently for Asriel to collect himself.

He finally looked up at Frisk. This time, though, he didn’t look through them. He looked them straight in the eyes, and Frisk felt as though he was staring into their soul. Frisk’s soul.

After a moment, Asriel spoke. “…I know. You’re not actually, Chara, are you?” he inquired. “They’ve been gone for a long time.”

Frisk gaped at him, eyes as large as saucers. Something swelled inside their chest, but it wasn’t constricting, nor suffocating.

“Um…what…what IS your name?” Asriel asked sheepishly, shuffling under Frisk’s perplexed stare.

Frisk hesitated. They opened their mouth, then closed it again. They waited for their fingers to grow numb, for a shortness of breath, even for their chest to start burning again. But they felt nothing. Chara was gone.

They cleared their throat and finally answered.

“My name is Frisk,” they said. This time, they didn’t stutter.

“Frisk? That’s…a nice name,” Asriel replied as a small smile finally crept to his face. He began to say more, but was interrupted as Frisk suddenly closed the space between them, wrapping their arms around him and burying their head into his soft shoulder. After an initial moment of shock, Asriel hugged Frisk back. The two of them stood like that for a long time, each comforting the other and silently sharing their sympathies, conveying that they understood. That they saw each other for who they truly were.

Frisk gripped the fabric of Asriel’s striped shirt, not wanting to let go. Tears sprung to their eyes once again, but this time Frisk knew they were their own.

“Thank you, Asriel…” they murmured into his shoulder. “For calling me.”


End file.
